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The Corellian League Back Story - Chapter One - Part 7
Masked behind the façade of decorative stone overgrown by creeper vines and blossoms, the Jedi discovered the security elevator. Eyes narrowing in intensity, Perth approached the keypad. “Time to see if the key codes Captain Tirnel bought from that bounty hunter were worth the credits.” He keyed the 10-digit code and held his breath for a moment. An affirmation chime sounded and the elevator doors slid open. After a rapid climb, the door opened upon the 20th floor revealing a small atrium and the entrance to one of the shorter flybridges before them. Rushing forward they swiftly crossed the transparent walkway, gazes shifting up and spying the larger flybridge they had crossed earlier from the landing pad. Upon reaching the threshold of the spire they were greeted by a blast door, though this one was not key code protected as they were within the secure area. But as Perth reached out to open the door, Bel swiftly grasped him by the forearm. “Uncle?” “I sense something…the dark side,” Bel warned, eyes nearly vacant. “I sense it too,” Tormax confirmed. “But we have no choice but to move forward. If this is how Noval met his end, then I would meet those responsible here and now.” Bel’s gaze shifted toward Tormax, but he had seen that look of determination in the young Consular’s eyes far too many times. At last he nodded, a small grin forming at the corner of his mouth. “Perth…the door.” Jaxon threw off his cloak and with a subtle tug of the force drew his lightsaber to his open palm. He stepped in front of the others, bone, tendon and muscle coiling in harmony with the force, as he mentally slipped into his Shien training. The door before him snapped upwards with a hiss and soft blue light flooded over the Jedi. The elliptical archive chamber sprawled out before them, thin tubes of blue neon encircling the rows of electronic, archival pillars that rose up a dozen feet from the raised platform they were situated on. Two access ramps gently sloped down the chambers main floor before them, a crescent shaped command console situated between them. The voluminous chamber was eerily quiet, save for the constant, electronic thrum of the pillars and the host of generators and cooling towers supporting the archives below their feet. The Jedi slowly approached the command console, but stopped suddenly as a platform behind the console slowly rose up from the floor below. A tinge of apprehension and surprise gripped them, a wave of dark side energy shrouding the archival chamber as several figures emerged upon the platform. At the forefront of the party stood an impressively tall Sith Pureblood, arms crossed atop a lightweight robe of black and a purple chest plate lined with silver. The red-skinned pureblood bore an emotionless façade, mere hints of malice behind his intense, dark eyes that were framed by a cropped mantle of fiery red hair. The Jedi could sense the dark power emanating from the Sith, and knew from his garb and aura that he was an Inquisitor. Among them, only Bel had ever encountered an Inquisitor; Sith masters of intrigue, manipulation and wielders of the raw power of the dark side. Flanking the Sith Pureblood were two Zabrak warrior bodyguards, both hunched over with hands hovering over a pair of lightsabers. Anger and eagerness seethed in their red eyes. When coupled with the tattoos snaking upon their red skin and their vestigial horns, the Sith warriors exuded a near feral desire to engage the Jedi. Behind the three Sith, four Kellenech Mark 1 Sentinel droids stood ready, blaster rifles already trained on the Jedi contingent. Jaxon’s skipped forward a handful of paces, his lightsaber flaring to life with a deep blue light. He gripped the hilt of the saber with both hands, his feet shifting into the ready position of the Shien form. “Wait Jaxon!” Bel said breathlessly, his eyes fixed upon the slowly forming scowl on the Inquisitor’s face. At his side, both Tormax and Perth drew their lightsabers but did not ignite them. “A wise decision, Bel Drayson. Best keep your dog on a leash.” The Pureblood’s voice bled from his tongue with a cold, calculating lilt, manipulative in its inflections, corrupting in its emanations. “You made a grave mistake coming here.” “Your presence here is a violation of the Treaty of Coruscant,” Perth declared, managing to keep his tone from wavering. The Inquisitor smirked. “I will not entreat with a youngling such as yourself…not until you have mastered your fear...” A long silence followed, and the smirk deepened to a malicious smile. “...or have succumbed to it.” Stepping down from the elevating platform, the Sith circled around the front of the command console, his bodyguard remaining behind. “I am Darth Xisix…and I do not hold myself accountable to the vapid writings of cowards and fools. The Sith cannot be bound by such doctrine.” “So you defy the will of your Emperor and the Dark Council?” Bel asked, reaching out with his mind to discover the true intent of the Sith Master. “Do not we all defy the will of our masters? Why is your pathetic, little band not on Tython cowering with the rest of the Jedi? You are not here upon sanctioned orders of your weak-willed council.” Xisix unfolded his arms and held them out wide. “No, my old…fragile Jedi. Destiny draws us all upon paths that cannot be controlled by the will of diplomats and concessions of parlay. That old fool Noval Colton discovered that well enough.” A short pulse of anger flared within Tormax, and the Adegan crystal of his saber flared to life with brilliant green intensity. “Yes, Padawan…” Darth Xisix purred. “…your master knew the truth. He knew that Coronet was just the beginning. The Sith will rule the galaxy, and within that revelation he begged me to end his life.” “Liar!” Tormax growled, his customary moderated Niman form giving way to his aggression and he assumed the form of Makashi. As the young Consular stepped forward, Bel stayed him with a firm hand gripping his shoulder. “Steady yourself Tormax…feel the force. The Inquisitor’s voice is a tool of the dark side, a harbinger of lies to draw out your anger and fear.” Xisix laughed, dark and sinister. “Believe what you will, but you can either join me or meet your fate here and now.” The rattling of mechanical feet sounded form overhead. Two security catwalks wound around the circumference of chamber some twenty feet above them. A half dozen HK-50 droids with blasters armed and at the ready filed into view, followed by a lithe Rattataki female, the pale sheen of her skin nearly glowing in the neon blue light. She walked with an arrogant swagger, wore customized armor of gray and red plate and was armed with wrist rockets and multiple pistols, most notably an illegal sonic disruptor. Even to the common eye her profession as a Bounty Hunter was obvious. “Delivered as promised,” she said, tone high pitched and grating. “My payment?” Darth Xisix’s lips flared in annoyance. “When they have been dealt with, Karissa.” Jaxon shifted his head to the side, matching the intensity of Tormax’s gaze. “The smuggler betrayed us.” A knot of regret twisted in the Consular’s gut, followed by a fleeting pang of anger. The reference Marq had made to a Rattataki Bounty Hunter was surely damning evidence. “Yes…” Xisix seethed, malice flaring in his glowing red eyes. “…there are none you can trust…this Republic is a festering wound that the Sith shall cleanse.” “Never!” Jaxon’s cry pierced the dull thrum of the archival chamber, and the Jedi Knight launched himself high into the air. ---- Lieutenant Theydon’s feet moved in a slow, rhythmic pace, the trooper’s blaster rifle leaning against his shoulder pauldron. It had been a scant few minutes since Tormax and the others had departed, and with a nearly subconscious compulsion he moved 20 or so paces from the service elevator doors toward the first of many of raised dais. And while his head panned slowly across the breadth of the plaza, his HUD registering no abnormal sights or sounds, the experienced Republic trooper new something was out of place. “Corporal…on me,” he ordered through the Comm-link. Dre left his position beside the elevator doors and approached his squad leader, rifle cradled across his chest. “Sir?” “Things are about to get messy,” Theydon said evenly. “This whole operation reeks of a trap.” “Your orders, sir?” Dresage asked, having served long enough with Warhead to doubt his intuition on the battlefield. “I need you to take up an advance position near the entrance plaza…take the Jedi.” Dre nodded in understanding. “Will explosions be warning enough?” Theydon allowed himself a smirk underneath his helmet. “Just watch yourself, Corporal.” As Dresage disengaged the safeties of his blaster rifle, he repositioned the ion blaster to a comfortable position at his hip, and ran his thumb across the thermal detonators and sticky grenades attached to his utility belt. “One…two…three…enough,” he thought to himself. With that he twisted at the waist and motioned toward young Wes Colton. The young Jedi Consular nodded with almost unnoticeable subtlety. Dre traced a wide arc around the perimeter of the broad plaza and again the Jedi nodded in affirmation. “Be careful,” Theydon said at last. Without another word, Dresage was off, the Republic Trooper cutting a nimble path through the decorative gardens and dais. After he had covered roughly half the distance across the plaza, he could feel it, a gentle tremor under the manicured grass and polished stone. His audible sensors pinged next, warning of targets approaching from the main entrance plaza. With his pace holding steady, Dre flicked a glance to his left, catching a fleeting glimpse of the Jedi moving like a wraith, swift and silent. Wes was outpacing him, not surprising given the weight of the trooper’s gear. And if the Sith were about to break down the door, being outflanked by the Jedi could prove advantageous. At that moment, as if puppet strings pulled by some malicious puppeteer, stone, steel and plastoid melted in a white-hot explosion that caved in a sizeable portion of the angled façade of the municipal hub. Immense heat roiled over Dre and the shockwave forced him to stumble back several paces. Within the black smoke billowing up from the charred remains, dozens of dark silhouettes emerged. As their forms took shape, Dre twitched at the notion of facing down several platoons of Sith Troopers with their limited numbers. Flanking the heavily armored soldiers were 10 or so Kellenech Sentinel Droids. This was going to be interesting. Wes had been far closer to the sudden blast than his trooper comrade, and the Jedi threw up a wall of Force energy to protect him from the blistering heat and shrapnel. Even with the Force shield in place, the magnitude of the blow forced his boots to slide back several feet and his outstretched arms buckled at the elbows. He sensed movement within the smoke, felt the approaching taint of the Sith, and knew he had but precious moments to mount a surprise offensive. Spurring his feet into a blistering sprint, the Jedi drove hard toward the smoldering ruin that was the entrance plaza. The Consular thrust his open palms upwards as he approached the smoke, fractured metal erupting skyward amidst the approaching Sith Troopers. Several were impaled on the fragments while many others scattered away from the epicenter of the Force eruption. Capitalizing on their sudden disorientation, Wes ignited his lightsaber and rushed in, leading with one hand outstretched. He sent forth another wave of Force energy, scattering yet more of the Sith Troopers, and then he was upon them. Through the thermal imaging of his HUD, Dre watched the lightsaber flashing amidst the smoke, striking down Sith upon Sith. Hope and opportunity panged in his chest, and the trooper bounded forward a dozen or so paces, taking up position behind several hand-cut boulders. Taking aim, he laid down a continuous stream of plasma bolts into the throng of Sith Troopers. His optical targeting locked onto a Sith being elevated into the air, arms and leg flailing as he was thrust upwards against his will. Dre’s sightline flashed quickly to Wes Colton, and he smiled as the Jedi repelled plasma bolts with his saber while lifting the Sith Trooper with the Force. Taking aim, Dre riddled the flailing Sith with a dozen charged plasma bolts. It was then that the Sentinel Droids triangulated his position and quickly advanced past the faltering trooper lines. Within seconds they were raining coordinated blaster fire on his position. Lunging into a hard sprint, Dresage avoided the incoming fire, plucking a thermal detonator from his utility belt as he dashed toward Wes. Legs pumping furiously, the finely trained trooper bobbed and weaved clear of incoming blaster fire, and in fluid synergy with his long strides, side-armed the thermal detonator toward the droids. The throw was true and it landed with tactical precision where three of the Sentinels had narrowed their spacing. The explosion ripped yet another crater in the reception plaza, leaving nothing of the three droids but twisted fragments of metal. But it was a minor victory. The remaining droids continued to rain fire down on his advancing position. A particularly inopportune shot tore loose the ground ahead of his long stride, and he stumbled to the ground, the wind blasting from his chest, as he struck the metal surface. Another charged plasma bolt struck the armor plating of his hip, sending a burning shockwave of pain through his body. Dre abandoned his rifle and began to crawl forward, but suddenly, the unmistakable echo of an assassin’s carbine registered in his optic amplifier. The bolt of energy struck his shoulder and sent him careening a half a dozen paces backwards. He folded over in pain, but even amidst the severe pain and weakness roiling through his body, the trooper had a sense of mind to attempt to trace the arc of the sniper’s shot. Through the still writing coils of chemical smoke he had no chance. “Imperial Sniper,” he groaned into the Comm-link, hoping Lieutenant Theydon would receive the warning. Refusing to submit, Dre reached out with his unwounded arm and arduously began to pull his battered body across the ground. He heard the discharge of the carbine again, following by multiple blaster rifle shots, but none of them reached their mark. Weakly, he twisted his head to look back over his shoulder. Wes stood over him, arm outstretched, palm open and fingers rigidly striated, as the Consular maintained a dome of Force energy over them both. Every strike of the droids’ blaster rifles, now joined by the remaining Sith Troopers impacted with the shield and dissipated. The Jedi held open his other palm, lifting Corporal Connor from the ground, and slowly, Wes backpedaled across the Reception Plaza. The saga continues... Chapter One - Part 8